The best short stories of 1915, and the yearbook of the American short story
General
The best short stories of 1915, and the yearbook of the American short story
American fiction -- 20th century; Short stories -- 20th century -- Bibliography; Short stories -- 20th century -- Indexes; Short stories, American
"I can't throw no scare into you so long as you got him on your mind.
Oh, lud! There he starts now--that quickstep dance again!"
A quick red ran up into Miss Juke's hair and she inclined forward in the
attitude of listening as the lively air continued.
"The silly! Honest, ain't he the silly? He said he was going to play
that for me the first thing this morning. We dance it so swell together
and all. Aw, I thought he'd forget. Ain't he the silly--remembering me?"
The red flowed persistently higher.
"Silly ain't no name for him, with his square, Charley-boy face and
polished hair; and--"
"You let him alone, Hattie Krakow! What's it to you if--"
"Nothing--except I always say October is my unlucky month, because it
was just a year ago that they moved him and the sheet music down to the
basement. Honest, I'm going to buy me a pair of earmuffs! I'd hate to
tell you how unpopular popular music is with me."
"Huh! You couldn't play on a side comb, much less play on the piano like
Charley does. If I didn't have no more brains than some people--honest,
I'd go out and kill a calf for some!"
"You oughtta talk! A girl that ain't got no more brains than to gad
round every night and every Sunday in foul-smelling, low-ceilinged
dance halls, and wear paper-soled slippers when she oughtta be wearing
galoshes, and cheesecloth waists that ain't even decent instead of wool
undershirts! You oughtta talk about brains--you and Charley Chubb!"
"Yes, I oughtta talk! If you don't like my doings, Hattie Krakow,
there ain't no law says we gotta room together. I been shifting for
myself ever since I was cash-girl down at Tracy's, and I ain't going
to begin being bossed now. If you don't like my keeping steady with
Charley Chubb--if you don't like his sheet-music playing--you gotta
lump it! I'm a good girl, I am; and if you got anything to in-sinuate;
if--"
"Sara Juke, ain't you ashamed!"
"I'm a good girl, I am; and there ain't nobody can cast a reflection
on--on--"
Tears trembled in her voice and she coughed from the deep recesses of
her chest, and turned her head away, so that her profile was quivering
and her throat swelling with sobs.
"I--I'm a good girl, I am."
"Aw, Sara, don't I know it? Ain't that just where the rub comes? Don't I
know it? If you wasn't a good girl would I be caring?"
"I'm a good girl, I am!"
"It's your health, Sara, I'm kicking about. You're getting as pale and
skinny as a goop; and for a month already you've been coughing, and
never a single evening home to stick your feet in hot water and a
mustard plaster on your chest."
"Didn't I take the iron tonic and spoil my teeth?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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